


Hemattan

by ser_dontos



Category: Dark Matter - Michelle Paver
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8373088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ser_dontos/pseuds/ser_dontos
Summary: OE: to bring something homeGus reflects on surviving Gruhuken





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [motetus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/motetus/gifts).



Hamettan

It's been years since my last sight of Gruhuken, bobbing on the water with the firelit shore swaying in front of my eyes. Years now since I arrived in India - my father found a position for me here, and when war finally broke out I enlisted out here too, following the family tradition. Now I can't bear the thought of going home. 

It's not that I care so much for India, although the heat and the bustle are a source of comfort, but the journey itself that terrifies me... all those weeks at sea. I only survived my initial passage by shutting myself in my cabin with plenty of alcohol and sleeping pills.

I could scarcely be further from Gruhuken, but I carry it with me, every day. I have Jack's diary, heavy with saltwater and memories. Somehow it survived that terrible confusion of splashing and swaying and tumbling bodies. But more than that, I have my dreams, and every night I'm back there, as if I've never truly left.

It's not always bad, I have dreams where the two of us are together, locked in each other's arms on his bunk or mine, smelling of woodsmoke and sweat. I can hold him close, pull him to me fiercely the way I never dared to in life. 

I know now that I should have, from his diary it's clear that he felt something for me too. Between his handwriting and the water damage I don't know too much about his final weeks, but enough to know he was staying there for me, and that he kept his records of our conversations. If only I... but it's too late for wishing. I only held Jack once, that night we pulled him shivering and terrified from the shore. He grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go, not until the... draug appeared and took him from me forever. 

I like to use Jack's word for it, although we never talked about it together. I never saw it before that night, but I felt it, as we all did. I dream of that too: moonlight on snow, the deceptive twilight and the fog that stole the landscape away whilst concealing something much worse, the creeping sense of dread that consumed us all, the stink of seaweed and blubber, the clink of metal dragging on rock.... Those dreams are hard to bear, and I wake up sweating to be reassured by the constant hum of insects that I made it out, I'll never again have to face the awful silence when the noises stopped.

Those aren't the worst dreams though, the very worst dreams of all are the ones where I'm here, in my room in India, and Jack's here with me. Only I can't see his face. All I can make out is his wet, round head, and the awful sound of his wet and heavy tread coming towards me.


End file.
